Lyrics
One scorching afternoon, I stretch my fingers and limbs
My skin burns like an incandescent fire log
I carry a brand new sword, all sharpened,
And a brand new rifle, all greased,
Loaded with a couple of bullets that bear bad news
And whistle like two migrating birds
As they fly over the teshaqq and agar trees
From which they get no nourishment.
I approach a group of men, all kitted out,
Who are listening to a tindé 1 played by Lalla and Seyma
I lack the courage to go up to them
Because my saddle has been snatched away,
Yanked by the son of a woman of my age and height
I track him up through the only pass
That cuts between the mountains going west,
As one might track the prints of a female camel,
Followed by its child, whom no one has seen for a day.
